A human spirit reincarnated in the body of an ancient fae goddess, she’s spent the last five years in iron shackles, her mind poisoned with magic for secrets she doesn’t know.

Waking up in a dirty alley with no memory of her escape, Ciarah finds herself in the hands of The Wild Hunt Motorcycle Club–a ruthless and violent group of bikers with faerie blood in their veins.

Arlo. Reece. Killian.

Three men drenched in death, sin, and old magic.

From their clubhouse in the middle of the Louisiana bayou, they’ll offer Ciarah the keys to unlock her memories and control the veil between worlds. But even her knights can’t erase the twisted scars that remind her they aren’t the only ones who hunt.

Excerpt:

The girl I’d been fucking was now fast asleep and drooling all da hell over my pillow. I stared at her for a couple o’ moments, smoking my cigarette, and then stepped out into the hall and shut the door to da damn room. “You aren’t leaving another one in dere for me to clean up, are you brother?” asked Donal as I made my way into the common room and paused, staring the vice president of the club down for a long moment. He was my superior so it woulda been prudent to look away, sure, but I was a dumbass on a good day, me. “I’m just on my way to see Meme,” I said with a shrug, and heard Donal cursing under his breath. “I’d just as soon eat her as I’d feed the bitch!” he called after me as I stepped outside, boots loud against the wood of the dock. An eerie fog hung over the water, broken up by clusters of Spanish moss and gnarled oak limbs. I cracked open the old freezer next to the building’s grubby exterior and pulled out a container of chicken, popping the lid and grabbing a raw leg. “’Ey Meme!” I shouted, tossing the container back into the freezer and grabbing a bag of marshmallows to take wit’ me. “Come ‘ere, girl!” I moved down da length of the dock and paused, knowing I looked like a fuckin’ asshole and not carin’ one bit. I made quacking sounds to try and draw da gator to the dock and then tossed a few ‘mallows out there for her to munch on. Whenever I tried to bring girls out ‘ere to impress ’em with da gators, they always asked me how I knew da damn things liked marshmallows. But what kind o’ stupid question is that? Everybody know gators like marshmallows. After a few moments, I saw her, gliding through the water toward me, her dark green head just barely visible in the fog. If I wasn’t fae, I probably wouldn’t come out here alone in the dark like dis. Meme was small for a gator, but there were others out dere in the swamp—I knew because the club often used ’em to dispose of bodies. “Hey girl, where you been?” I asked, using the pole at the end of the dock to hook the chicken leg to. I dangled it out over the water and watched as Meme lifted her long, ugly snout out to grab hold of it. With a crunch of bone, she disappeared under the dark waters again. I stood there for a few, takin’ drags on my smoke, when the sound of a car drew my attention back toward the hard packed dirt of the parking lot. We didn’t exactly get a lot o’ visitors out ‘ere in da bayou. “Looks like even if we stay outta trouble, trouble finds us, eh, Meme?” I tossed a handful of marshmallows into the water and headed up the length of the dock and back inside. I stepped in through the rickety old screen door just in time to see Caley dragging this thin, frail wisp of a girl into the common room. “She’s got iron in her side, I think,” Caley was saying as she helped the girl into one of da old couches. I saw right away that there was blood—fae blood, sure—but the stinko’ iron was unmistakable. “And you brought her here, why?” Donal was asking, looking more annoyed than anything else as he stroked a hand down the dark, thick length of his beard. “Arlo said Fionn needed to see her,” Caley began, ruffling up her hair and lookin’ like she was in serious need of a nap or some shit. I just hoped all this raucous didn’t wake da girl I left in the dorm room. “Well, Fionn ain’t here,” I said, moving over to stand next to the wilting fae on the club’s couch. Her skin was a pale blue, almost white, but she was clearly still entertainin’some sort of broken glamour. I could smell it on ‘er almost as bad as I could smell da iron. Who knew what she’d look like without it? I wouldn’t be gettin’ human girls for my bed if I wasn’t wearin’ one, that’s for damn sure. “I found her outside the diner,” Caley said, huffing out a breath and wiping sweaty palms on her uniform. “I don’t think ‘Lo knew she was fae or else he wouldn’t have suggested I take her to the hospital …” “You took her to da damn hospital?” Donal roared and then closed his eyes for a long moment. “May da goddess help you, you stupid girl.” “The glamour’s faded a lot since I got her there,” Caley said defensively, wrapping her arms around herself. Guess the girl couldn’t help herself—she was half-human after all. “She wasn’t this color and she didn’t smell this bad until after …” She paused and leaned in close to Donal and me. “Someone is missing this girl bad. That iron in her side, it’s got a dampening spell. That, and when she used her magic, I could feel it—some sort of signal went out.” I turned my attention back to the frail, wispy thing sitting on the couch. When she looked up at me, her eyes had the force of a goddamn train. I felt like I was just waiting for the collision, that I was looking at somethin’ powerful, something old.And those eyes, like two sapphires, dark and thick wit’ magic … I could damn near drown in ’em. “Get yourself under control, brudder,” Donal mumbled, flicking me in the crotch. That’s when I realized that I was holding onto a rock-hard cock inside my jeans. Over this frail thing? I’d break da girl if I tried to fuck her. The hell was wrong with me? “And call your daddy.” “He’s my president same as he is yours,” I snarled under my breath, turning away from the girl before I could think too hard about the rapid beating of my heart or the thickening of my cock. No way, no hell. I was not gettin’ mixed up with a woman as troublesome as all that. I made enough trouble all on my own.

Author Bio:

Tate James was born and raised in the Land of the Long White Cloud (New Zealand) but now lives in Australia with her husband, baby and furbaby.

She is a lover of books, red wine, cats and coffee and is not a morning person. She is a bit too sarcastic and swears too much for polite society and definitely tells too many dirty jokes.

C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn’t mind – especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.

She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she’s not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s the author of over thirty novels – romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There’s a heck of a lot to do there.

Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She’s already looking forward to it.